


I'll see you when the morning comes

by calmdad



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmdad/pseuds/calmdad
Summary: A quiet moment between a princess and her steward while the Castle of Lions still sleeps.





	

Allura doesn't know how long it's been since she last saw her bed. The Arusian days and nights seem to blur together, shorter than what she's used to on Altea, and she justifies it by completing as much work as possible in the name of efficiency when in truth, the prospect of sleep is more terrifying than facing a Galra fleet naked.

She’s always been a little heavy-handed when it comes to completing tasks at hand. ‘A feisty little twissick,’ Coran had once said in the middle of dodging a flailing flurry of elbows and knees for daring to interrupt her so-called Very Important Business. ‘Once you’ve got your teeth in something, nothing is going to make you let go.’ That was back when he could fend off her tiny blows with ease, pick her up, and tuck her under his shoulder if she got so absorbed in a project she forgot to sleep. Now, she’s too old for temper tantrums and he’s too old for nannying, so aside from some attempts to reason with her, he elects to leave her to it.

Some part of her feels grief at yet another thing she’s lost to time.

Data points and course corrections fill her head as Allura tears through the ship’s holographically-displayed maps and documents at a breakneck speed. The Castle of Lions still isn’t in optimal condition following skirmish after skirmish with Galra forces, and it seems as if they’ll never get a chance to breathe and catch up. It’s a miracle they’ve survived this long on outdated technology headed by an inexperienced navigator and backed by even less experienced pilots. Their situation is a bleak one, that’s for sure, and she longs for the days when her beloved home was still a stronghold that could defend against any hostile foe.

“What is wrong with me?” Allura asks the empty air, half a laugh escaping. “This isn’t like me in the slightest.” Sleepless nights have done more than take a toll, they’ve given her the perfect opportunity to wallow in isolation, letting dark thoughts fester until they’re all she can think about. This is no way for her to be acting; she needs to be able to put her best foot forward for the sake of the people who need her. Perhaps what she really needs is a break.  


The screen goes dark as she terminates all active programs but the essentials, leaving the ship to run itself for a while. The control room feels cold and impersonal without holograms to fill the space, auxiliary lights pulsing a soft blue before going dim as the only illumination. Allura stretches, noting the uncharacteristic stiffness in her muscles, and wonders just how many hours have passed since she first sat down to work.

A sudden rumbling draws attention to the hollowness in her stomach, and she’s very glad that nobody is around to see her cheeks darken with embarrassment. The castle kitchens, massive enough to cook for an army, are nearly empty except for a lone, mustachioed figure who breaks into a grin the moment he sees Allura coming.

“Finally back with us, are you?” Coran asks, the picture of fondness as he places one hand atop her head and strokes as if she’s a baby juldan.

“In a manner of speaking,” she responds, her own expression going sheepish with the attention. “Where have the rest of the Paladins gotten off to?”  


This is apparently either an obvious question or a stupid one, more than likely both, because Coran raises one bushy eyebrow in reply before offering up a chuckle. “Haven’t you taken a look outside? It’s the middle of the night; the Paladins are all in bed. Rightly so, after working themselves to the bone.”

“I... see.” Stupid, obvious, thick-headed, all of the above. All five of them have been making such leaps in progress lately that the least she could have done was supervise their training for the day, yet all the hours just seemed to slip away in an instant.

Coran seems to take note of her distress, since before she knows it, he’s slipped a cup of something hot into her empty hands. She inhales, notes the comforting, homey smell of stewed zelba, and finally smiles. "I figured you might be making your way here eventually and thought you might need a little pick-me-up. We don’t have an infinite amount of fresh zelba to go around, so consider it a treat.”

“Thank you, Coran. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you here.” Though the change in his expression is minute, she instantly realizes that something in her tone has let her true feelings slip, and she clutches at her glass in an effort to brace herself from the coming onslaught of her too-perceptive steward. “You don’t need to worry, really, I just...” Here, Allura pauses, groping for the right words that would let her save face and finding none. “I’m just--” A sharp exhale is all she can manage, the frustration at not being able to express herself fully reaching a boiling point.

She’s about ready to throw her stewed zelba across the room before she finally registers the pressure of hands, solid and steady, gripping her shoulders. “Calm down, little twissick, just breathe.” The childhood endearment makes her comply without thinking, prompting one hand to give her an encouraging pat. “There you go, nice and easy. You’re getting yourself worked up, over what? Don’t worry about making it sound diplomatic and impressive, just tell it to me straight, go on.”

Looking up at the face of her father’s closest adviser, one she’d known from the cradle, her final remaining family member, everything became too much all at once. His image blurs, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to stop her tears without success, and rather than crumpling into a tiny ball of tightly-packed misery, she’s instead pressed against the comforting solidity of Coran’s chest while he makes every effort to soothe her.

“It’s too much,” she whispers, voice wavering. “Everything, all of it, Altea and... and Father, leaving Voltron in the hands of five alien children... It’s just all so laughable, it isn’t even funny.” The fabric of his shirt is damp when Allura finally raises her head, her vision swimming. “Where am I supposed to go from here?”  


Once she finishes speaking, Coran offers a hapless smile that makes her realize, for all his silly exterior, this man had seen just as much pain and suffering as she had. How much of his playacting was for their human Paladins and how much was for the benefit of a fledgling ruler in far too over her head, Altea only knew.

“Neither of us had proper time to grieve, I’m afraid. With the world coming to pieces all around us, we had to act fast and have barely had time to stop and catch our breath even now. We’ve all been pushed hard by this war and none of us volunteered for it, but we’re here all the same.” Solemn as she’s ever seen him, he continues on with renewed strength, “You’ve worked hard to keep Voltron out of Zarkon’s hands, but you’re not giving yourself time to rest. To recover your strength. To heal. Allura, you have to remember that you’re the force driving us forward. It’s a lot of pressure for someone so young, but there’s no reason you need to go it alone and take everything on your shoulders.”

At this, the look he gives her is unutterably fond, something she’s only ever seen in her father’s eyes as he leans down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Let us help you. Alone, you or I may not have all the answers, but we are all in this fight together. That is where _we_ go from here, taking it one step at a time.”  


Something in her heart squeezes hard enough to ache, and Allura finds herself nodding. “You’re right, I--... I’m afraid I’ve been terribly selfish about this entire thing. I’m sorry, Coran.”

In response, his signature silly grin seems to return full force. “Nothing to apologize for. You were only doing as you thought a princess should. But you’re not just a princess anymore, you’re part of a team, and a valuable part at that.” And he’s off again, pressing the cup of zelba into her hands once more, the stew gone lukewarm. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten, hm?”

Even though Allura was elated at the prospect of a rare chance for food that reminded her of home, exhaustion dragged at her, making every moment a chore. “Actually, Coran, I--” She breaks off to stifle a yawn, unsuccessfully. “I think I may just try and sleep for a while.” The crying fit probably didn’t help matters, something she will probably feel mortified about for weeks to come.

“Suit yourself, all the more for me. Go head on off to bed, then, and don’t let me catch you wandering the halls like a ghost.” Her answering chuckle is cut short by yet another yawn, prompting him to brandish his own glass, now twice as full. “I mean it, now go!”  


About to take his advice lest she risk never being able to remove the smell of zelba from her hair, Allura stops to consider for only a moment before pulling Coran into a hug that would have been murder on a fragile human spine. As it is, he lets out a strangled, “oof,” at the squeeze, returning the gesture in what she thinks might be a comforting pat but might also be a tap of surrender until finally, she lets go.

“Thank you, Coran,” she says with complete sincerity and then, almost as an afterthought, swoops in to plant a quick smooch right on one of his cheek marks. Considering her earlier fatigue, she escapes with remarkable speed, and doesn’t look back to catch a glimpse of Coran tugging his mustache in furious embarrassment, as well as a fair measure of pride.

At last, she thinks she may finally sleep soundly.


End file.
